


Lonely Crowds

by Basically_A_Gh0st



Series: Fire by the Sea [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: "Studying", Alfred where the fuck were you during all of this holy shit, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Bruce, Bruce has PTSD and doesn't know how to deal with it, Bruce is a fuckin dweeb when he's not waist-deep in his own tears, Closeted Character, Everyone can feel the gay radiating off of Jack, Eye Symbolism/Imagery, Gay Joker, Huge enough to muffle out Bruce's crying, Jack "I know everything about everyone but not you and I'm pissed" Napier, Jack helps him through what he accidentally caused, M/M, Many cute quirks, So slow that Bruce's first genuine smile is at the end of chapter one, They take French together, This fic goes from 0 to 10 to 100 back to 10 real fuckin quick, Tiny plants, Water/Fire Motif, Wayne Manor is huge okay, a lot of crying, almost forgot, god damn, other characters will be added later - Freeform, very slow build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 12:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10464993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basically_A_Gh0st/pseuds/Basically_A_Gh0st
Summary: Jack is a punk clown with a part-time job and Bruce is a quirky, reclusive mess that tries his best.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Anxiety Attacks, Suicide Ideation, Slight Dissociation, Clinical Depression, Death of Parents (mentioned), Bullying (mentioned), PTSD, etc.  
> All of this in the first chapter alone!

The crisp, autumnal air hit Jack’s lungs like a barrage of fallen orange and yellowed leaves cascading down from the trees above. Which is, precisely, what had just happened. On his way to school, the Gods of Halloween decided to rain down flame-colored justice upon our main character, the quite literal class clown Jack “Jester of Anarchy” Napier; the rebel joker who dresses as a spooky clown he designed himself for his part-time job at Party City. 

Cursing lightly and stumbling backwards on the cracked sidewalk, Jack removed the demons of fall from his blue, doe-like eyes. In doing so, he caught sight of someone he’d never seen before: a tall, dark haired boy wearing a long black coat and a dour guise. He stood with relaxed but perfect posture by the bus stop, completely secluded in the midst of a large group of riders Jack recognized. He was seemingly lost in his own thoughts, but fully aware of his surroundings, causing Jack to quickly catch himself gaping slightly, swiftly turned back to his general direction, and kept walking. 

The usually extroverted and easily befriended boy was now a blushing, tentative mess because of this new boy. He was like a fish caught on a line from the time he got to school to the minute he got out, for Jack, with the help of Sherlock Holmes and and psychologist mother, could know what a person was like just by studying their eyes, but, also due to the distance, he couldn’t read Mr. Black Coat at all. 

All he saw were deep, cyan pools of shielded emotion that he couldn’t decipher.

 

As per usual, lunch came around and gave Jack a breather period to relax and catch up with reality.

“Hey, if you’re not eating your pizza, I’m taking it,” Selena, the obsidian haired leader of the drama club said through a mouthful of cold cafeteria french-fries.

Jack comically slid his tray half-way across the lunch table complimented by double finger-guns to his friend. “Have fun. It tastes like cardboard anyway.”

“You know that’s a lie, Napier. Is something up?”

“I mean, maybe... I don’t know. There was this guy I saw in the morning that I haven’t seen around here before. He’s been stuck in my head all day and I can’t get him out of it.”

“ _ Awww _ , does Jackie have a  _ crush _ ?” Selena cooed.

“No, I’m just…  _ interested _ in him. Psychologically. I can’t figure him out like I can with everyone else. He’s... _ different _ somehow.”

“Well, the blush on your face says  _ otherwise _ .”

“I’m blushing because you’re  _ embarrassing me _ ,  _ Selena _ .” Jack angrily spat back at the giggling actress.

“Don’t be so defensive, Jackson. Besides, you’re a literal clown, anyway,” Eddy chimed in.

“What does that have to do with  _ anything _ ,” Jack questioned.

“You make people laugh for a living; you should be able to take jokes directed at you and your sexually ambiguous nature.”

“One: I’m allowed to feel what I want. Two:  _ Shut your fuckin’ face _ ,” the literal clown hissed at his acquaintance.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Eddy complied to his friend’s demand and continued eating his now room-temperature, cardboard-esque school lunch.

 

Jack, still thoroughly embarrassed, sat in silence for the rest of the period. In his hopes for a quiet period away from his new infatuation, like his self-confidence, it just came crashing down.

To make matters worse, when he showed up late to French that afternoon only to be met face to face with those same blue oceans yet again. Yep, Mystery Man, now learning that his name was actually Bruce, sat at the farthest end of the first row by the window in his eighth period French class. All it took was a quick glance to make Jack a nervous, slightly intimidated ball of anxious curiosity once again. He could barely concentrate all period because he could practically feel Bruce staring holes into his green-dyed skull. Thankfully, all they did was watch a video on the French Revolution and the first half of French-dubbed Beauty and the Beast. When the bell rang to signal the end of class, he swiftly walked up to the new student to introduce himself.

“Uh, h-hi… Um… Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around before a-and was wondering if you transferred from a different school or homeschooling. M-My name’s Jack, by the way.” While screaming on the inside, Jack awaited Bruce’s response.

“Nice to meet you Jack, I’m Bruce, and yeah, I  _ was _ home-schooled before today. How’d you guess that? Usually no one transfers to public school after an entire life of homeschooling in the near halfway stage of junior year.”

The shorter of the two giggled out of anxiety, trying to regain his composure. “ _ Dunno _ ,” Jack shrugged, tucking his thumbs into the back pockets of his torn, faded jeans, trying to seem chilled-out and not at all nervous. “I just have that sixth sense, I guess.”

“Huh, that’s pretty cool,” Bruce retorted, fighting back a smirk. “Hey, I don’t have a ride home and I saw you coming in the direction of my house, so I was wondering if I could walk with you.”

_ Jack’s heart dropped like an atomic bomb into his stomach. _

This mysterious new boy just asked him to walk to a house he’d never even seen before just after meeting him for the first time. (At least take him to dinner first, Bruce.)

“Oh! I’m sorry, is it too soon-“

“ _ N-No _ ! No, it’s fine, really. I don’t mind walking you home,” Jack sputtered, wafting a fluorescent green lock out of his eyes.

“I-I’m just not used to walking with other people, that’s all.”

“Alright. Well, I’m just glad you’re okay with it,” Bruce retorted, smiling with his eyes, voice, body language, and an Almost-Mona-Lisa-Smile. This slightly angered Jack, but he let it pass because he could tell the mask Bruce was putting up was nothing more than just that- a mask. He could tell that not many people have seen what lies beneath it, but Jack felt like with just enough effort, he could get close enough to the mystery-shrouded boy and take a peek at his true identity.

The boys left the school grounds minutes later on the way to Mystery Manner. They came the same way Jack came every day, passing every landmark, meeting everyone he knew came the same way. As they came up to the next to last stoplight before getting to Jack’s house, Bruce pushed the crossing button for the opposite side of the street.

_ Well, he did say I lived in the general direction of him _ , Jack thought.

As all the cars passed, the boys walked and walked for another good twenty minutes before coming to another stoplight, this time at a crossroad. They were getting to the more “rural” side of the city, if “rural” meant “actual houses on streets where trees actually grow.”  Jack scanned over all of the street names to quickly memorize them: Ark Avenue, Ivy Lane, Riddle Street… “‘Death’ Manor”?  What could that be? The original name was scratched out on the sign and had “DEATH” spray-painted on top of what it used to be in crude, red lettering. Before Jack could ask Bruce about the slightly insidious street name (well, indicator of a certain place of residence under a regular sign that read Justice Drive), he announced that they were almost there and took the turn that lead in its direction after crossing the street.

_ Maybe he lives in one of these houses _ , Jack pondered, still observing his surroundings. It was quite a change from what he was used to seeing aside from his suburban life: Seemingly billions of leaves littered the streets from the trees along the sidewalks. To the right were houses guarding a vast wood that appeared to be engulfed in flames; the yellows and oranges reflected in the falling sun’s light almost seemed to glow like a bright fire. To the left were just houses and more tree-lined sidewalks.

Entranced, Jack nearly collided with his new walking partner as he was opening the large gate before a large, Victorian-style mansion.

“We’re here,” Bruce announced, turning slightly to catch the clown’s wandering gaze.

Catching back up to the scene before him, Jack asked, “Where are we?”

“What used to be Wayne Manor.”

Jack stared in awe at the old building, keeping a moderate distance from Bruce as they walked to the front doors.  _ Wayne Manor? The former home of the wealthiest family in all of Gotham? _ The questions went on and on in his mind, but the biggest one was if he lived out here all by himself.

Remembering that Bruce had claimed he was homeschooled, he assumed that maybe there was someone else with him-an adoptive parent? More than likely.

Bruce pulled his keys out of his left coat pocket and unlocked the door to the looming manor before them.

 

“Alfred, I’m home,” he announced to the emptiness, echoes breaking the once still silence.

Jack stayed close behind his friend, eager to meet this  _ “Alfred” _ character. He could hear a few footsteps walking toward the entrance, followed shortly by an older-sounding British gentleman welcoming “Master Wayne” and his “guest” home.

“How was your first day, sir,” he asked as he held the door open.

“It went well, as you expected,” Bruce informed as he momentarily took of his messanger bag to remove his coat, putting it on the coat rack nearby, and revealed the rest of the dark gray sweater beneath it. He then bent slightly to retrieve his school bag and slung it over his shoulder again with ease.

As Jack entered the old, gothic mansion and into the ornate foyer, he locked eyes with exactly whom he expected to see: an older man dressed in a butler’s uniform. Alfred was slightly taller than him, but a few inches shorter than “Master Wayne,” and sported a moustache, thinning, gray hair, and tired, yet wise and endearing, eyes. Jack could tell right away that if he hadn’t already adopted Bruce, then he was definitely a father figure for the young billionaire and thought of him as if he were his own son. He flashed him a warm smile as he followed Bruce inside, but turned away before seeing Alfred smile back.

“I assume that this is a new  _ friend _ of yours, sir,” Alfred commented.

Bruce slowed his pace, stopped, and turned on his heels to face his butler with his hands clasped behind his back. “Yeah,” he stated, “I suppose so.” He then turned his gaze toward the part-time clown, giving him another one of his signature Mona Lisa Smiles.

Alfred chuckled lightly, also fixing his gaze upon the green-haired boy. “Forgive me for not asking sooner, but what happens to be your name, young man?”

Jack straightened up, trying his best to make a good first impression. “Jackson,” he answered. “My name’s Jackson Napier, but ‘ _ Jack _ ’ is just fine.”

“A pleasure to meet you,  _ Mr. Napier _ .” Alfred smiled. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, Master Wayne’s butler of many years, and welcome you to Wayne Manor.”

“That’ll be all for now, Alfred,” Bruce chimed. “We’ll be upstairs studying.”

Jack didn’t remember agreeing to, or even mentioning studying with Bruce at any time during the day, but he just rolled with it, mentally noting to text his mom that he’ll be doing homework at a friend’s house and would be home late.

 

One heavy set of feet on the stairs quickly became two as the second pair picked up speed to keep up with the first. The two boys chatted about their French class as they made their way to Bruce’s either study or bedroom (could be both) down the long hallway. Jack was amazed at how many rooms were in this one house, and how Bruce could even possibly remember exactly which was his. To Jack, they had stopped in front of a seemingly random room -the last one on the right-hand side in the corner near a large window- and made their way inside. Inside was one of the master bedrooms that looked like something straight out of a movie; dark, hardwood floor with paper littered here and there, a desk and nearly full bookshelf in one corner, a king-sized bed in the center of the room, a door leading to the bathroom and closet on one wall, and a balcony entrance on the other. Tiny potted plants lined his window sills, some hung near the windows from the ceiling, and a few sat neatly on a couple of bookshelves. There were a couple of old movie posters above Bruce’s bed:  _ Back to the Future _ , _ The Fifth Element _ ,  _ The Sixth Sense _ , and  _ The Lost Boys _ , to be specific. The taller boy kicked off his shoes by the bedroom door and threw his bag on top of his bed. After doing another heel-turn, Bruce welcomed his visitor into the “ _ Lair of Wayne _ .” Jack giggled at this, reminiscing on how cold and brooding Bruce appeared at first, and was now this cute and quirky guy he was happy to call a friend. Following his friend, he also took off his shoes by the door and flung his black-and-blue checkered backpack onto the large bed big enough for two people. Jack pulled out the swivel chair sitting by Bruce’s little office space and pulled a “ _ Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, Leo _ ” pose after a couple of spins and before sitting normally. Bruce shyly laughed at the clown’s stupid antics, and sat on an empty spot on his bed.

“Alright, I guess now’s a good time to mention that we  _ aren’t _ going to study for French,” Bruce informed, still slightly giggling. “I wanted to bring you up here with me just to, you know,  _ hang out _ and talk for a little bit. You seem like a really cool person to be around, and I would really like to get to know you more, I guess.”

    Slightly pissed that Bruce covers his mouth when he laughs, Jack didn't know how to feel exactly about Bruce and how he plans things, but he’d learn to live with it. Besides, working on the fly or being forgetful was perfectly fine by him.

    “Alright, what do you want to talk about?”

    “I want to talk about you, I guess, to get to know you?”

    Jack pondered at this for a second, trying to think of something that he could even possibly bring up to start a conversation. Home life? No, too boring. Interests? Too easy. Work?

 

    “I...uhh...I work as a clown at Party City?”

    Silence followed swiftly after his statement. Jack assumed that such a strange occupation could surely kick off an interesting conversation. After registering what he had said, Bruce’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“That's the  _ greatest thing _ I've  _ ever _ heard,” he chuckled. “How do you do it?”

“How do I work as a clown or how do I get away with it,” Jack asked slyly.

“Damn,  _ both _ , I guess!”

“Well,” Jack pondered, grinning to himself. “Apparently the kids liked my creepy clown act during Halloween so much that the boss decided to keep it as a year-round thing.”

“That’s. Awesome,” Bruce mused. “Wait, ‘ _ creepy clown act _ ’? Were you part of the Clown Scare last year?”

“What?  _ No _ ! If I wanted to  _ scare _ people, I’d want to get  _ paid _ for it,” Jack proudly answered. “I’ve been doing this kind of thing since I was  _ twelve _ and getting into Homestuck. Now I’m known as the ‘ _ Jester of Anarchy _ ’ across town.”

Bruce thought quietly for a moment. “That’s cool, but how about ‘ _ The Joker _ ’,” he finally responded.

“What…?” Jack asked, confused by his response.

“‘ _ Jester of Anarchy _ ’ is a bit too long and maybe a bit hard for the kids to understand or remember, so why not change it to just ‘ _ The Joker _ ’? You know, like the playing card,” Bruce explained.

“‘ _ The Joker _ ’...” Jack thought, gazing at the tattoos on his left hand: four playing cards; the Ace Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, and Spades, all inked in fine detail extending up from his wrist joint to the bottom of his index finger. He had designed the tattoo himself while on break one afternoon, as made obvious through his easily recognizable gothic-Victorian art style. He thought of the four cards and the symbolism behind them while keeping their simplicity in mind, for he had originally wanted four other cards added to his deck: a King, a Queen, the Jack, and…

His thought stopped in their tracks immediately.

“Bruce,” Jack monotonously muttered, still lost in thought. “That’s... _ amazing _ ,” he laughed excitedly, staring up at his host with bright blue eyes shining with endearment. “ _ How _ have I never thought of that before?! Oh my god, you’re a fucking  _ genius _ , dude!”

They both got up and hugged tightly out of excitement, Bruce picking up the smaller boy and spun with him locked in his arms. They laughed hysterically as they fell dizzily on Bruce’s bed, hardly able to say anything through fits of laughter.

 

“You...are such...a fuckin’... _ idiot _ …” Jack wheezed through his incessant giggling. “Didn’t know you were strong enough to pick me up like a princess, Bruce.”

“I’m not,” Bruce lightly stated as he regained his composure. “Adrenaline is one hell of a chemical.”

Jack chuckled at this claim. “You’re really trying to convince me that a guy with  _ that _ amount of muscle can’t manage to pick up a scrawny punk like  _ me _ ?”

There was a slight pause before Bruce responded, surprised by this comment. He took this time to process what Jack had aforementioned and slightly grinned to himself before answering.

“ _ Well _ ,” Bruce chuckled. “I had no idea you had... _ acknowledged _ such minor details; I didn’t notice you  _ checking me out  _ all this time,” he teased, winking at the boy next to him.

Jack practically jumped out of his skin and felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach; blood finding it’s way to his pale cheeks and spreading quickly across his face.

“ _ What?! N-No I wasn't _ ,” he sputtered, sitting up on the large bed, scooting slightly away from his original place, picking up his legs and hiding behind them. “I-I just... _ n-noticed _ how...uhh…”

“ _ Sure _ you did,” Bruce cooed, reminding Jack of Selena from earlier that day.

The smaller boy huffed out of frustration, crossing his arms and turning his face from his host, hiding the deep blush on his thin, pale face. Hadn't he had  _ enough _ embarrassment for one day already?

“Hey, I-I was just joking,” Bruce reassured, slightly concerned he had jeopardized their entire relationship. He sat up and bent forward just enough to get closer to his guest. “I didn't mean to scare you, Jack.”

Scare him? That’s a strange way to word it, Jack thought. Well, he wasn't wrong, though, as made evident through his tense and closed-off body-language: half-crossed legs pulled up to his face held together by both of his arms. Jack loosened his tense position by dropping his shoulders and turned his eyes toward Bruce's, giving him an “okay, continue” glance.

“I was just being stupid and thought it would be fun to push the boundaries a bit; to see what would happen.”

“It’s fine,” Jack responded, fully turning his attention back toward the concerned boy in front of him. “I didn't expect you to make jokes like that until later on,” he smiled.

“Sorry, but everything’s cool now, right,” Bruce worriedly asked.

“Yeah, everything’s cool.”

“Alright, now we can get back to the conversation at hand?

Jack hesitated before responding.

“I forgot what we were talking about.”

“We were talking about you, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Jack lightly responded, dropping his limbs to the sheets below, finally relaxing. “Well, there really isn't much left to say, though, so I don't know what else you would  _ want _ to know; you weren't very specific.”

“I guess we’ll find out as we go on,” Bruce shrugged, subtly dropping the previous subject to make it easier on Jack.

“I want to know about  _ you _ now,” Jack chimed, moving closer. “We’ve just been talking about me so far, and I want to know all about the mysterious Mr. Wayne.”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to try hide his blush. “Well, there isn't  _ much _ to say about me at all,” Bruce chuckled, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I’m just what everyone  _ expects _ me to be; the reclusive young heir to Wayne Industries. I don't think there’s anything left to mention other than unrelated minor things.”

“Oh, come  _ on _ , Bruce, that’s it? That can't  _ really _ be all you gotta say about yourself.”

“ _ What _ exactly do you want to know,” he monotonously responded, turning his eyes to Jack, similar to how he had done moments before, except the dark blueness just got even deeper.

Jack could feel the coldness returning to Bruce's demeanor; him shutting himself back off as a way of protecting himself from...something.  _ God _ is Jack hated not knowing things.

He didn't want to lose what he had already gotten from him and wanted to know  _ why _ he was doing this.

 

He didn't want to drown in his oceans anymore.

 

“I want to know  _ what _ it is that makes you afraid to open up.”

Bruce froze. His eyes widened and his pupils constricted. Fear washed over him like a wave of dread. He shakily responded, “I...I’m afraid of...opening up because…” Bruce hesitated, tensing his shoulders and burying his face into his arms. He inhaled deeply and exhaled just as hard, sobs shaking his voice.

“ _ Because I don't want to get hurt again _ .”

 

After he stated this, Bruce let his tears finally free. The way he convulsed and gasped for air showed that he had been repressing them for a long time, Jack noted, for he finally understood why he had been so closed off to begin with.

 

“It was  _ my _ fault that they died,” Bruce choked. “If I hadn’t said ‘ _ Hey, let’s take a different way home _ ,’ they would probably still be around. Kids thought I was a  _ freak _ because I had two dead parents; because I strayed from their  _ norm _ , and would send me home with  _ bruises _ every day. That’s why I  _ left  _ private school, took up homeschooling from the seventh-grade on, and now go to Gotham High.” He said all this as steadily as he would allow himself, fighting back his sobs.

Jack had no idea what to do. He had comforted crying friends before, but never ones he accidentally hurt. His eyes and throat burned because he could feel tears rising up as he watched his friend let everything he’d kept hidden flow free before him. Guilt and worry had made his movements weak and shaken, so he just sat in his place, waiting for the right moment.

“I’m  _ sorry _ , I'm so  _ fucking sorry _ ,” Bruce apologized to no one in particular. “Why-” Bruce cut himself short as an uncontrollable sob made its way through his words. “Why didn't he take  _ my _ life  _ instead _ ? Why did he let me go just to end up like  _ this _ ? Why am I not  _ dead yet _ ?”

The fire in Jack’s throat only got stronger as Bruce went on. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, waiting to be set free.

 

“ _J-Jack_ ,” the other boy stuttered. He then lifted his head to face his friend with the expression of utmost terror; his red and swollen eyes were wide with worry and tear-stained cheeks twitched slightly. Bruce was panting quickly and heavily through his teeth, seemingly unable to get enough air into his lungs. “Jack-k, I-I can't breathe. I’m c-cold and I _can't_ _breathe_ a-and I _don't know_ why.”

Jack knew, and he hated that he knew; Bruce was having his first anxiety attack. Jack and his mother dealt with a moderate case of the disorder and picked up a few ways to help someone as they endure an attack.

“I-It’s going to be okay,” he assured. “Bruce, it’s going to be oka-”

“No, it’s  _ not _ ! It’s fucking  _ not _ ,” he yelled. “ _ Drowning _ . I-It feels like I'm  _ drowni-ing. _ I can't  _ stop _ it, and you  _ can't help me _ .” Bruce then proceeded to bury his face into his knees again and roughly tangle his fingers into his hair before hugging his legs. “I-It feels like I-I'm about to  _ die _ , Jack. Please, just  _ l-let me die _ .”

Impulse finally clicked off on Jack’s brain and seconds later he found himself on top of his friend, left hand covering the other’s mouth.

“You  _ aren't _ going to die, Bruce, and it wasn't your fault that you lost your parents,” he stated, voice strained by his own tears. “You were just a little kid and did what any other ten-year-old would have done, and that’s  _ okay _ . It’s awful what happened and what you went through afterwards, but it was  _ not _ your fault.” Jack sighed, calming himself down. “What I want you to do is take to three deep breaths, alright?”

Bruce hesitantly complied, with the first two rattling his rib cage and the last barely making it through steadily.

“ _ Good _ , good,” Jack praised, ignoring the stray tears falling onto his friend’s chest. “One more time and I’ll let you go, alright?”

As done previously, Bruce repeated his actions, this time much steadier.

“ _ Perfect _ , absolutely  _ perfect _ ,” Jack smiled somberly. He removed his hand from Bruce's mouth and weakly climbed off of him, pulling him up to face him.

“You’re  _ okay _ now, right?”

Bruce just stared at the boy in front of him blankly, ignoring his question.

“Bruce? Hey, y-you’re alright now; it’s over.”

Still no response.

“Dude, you’re kinda scaring me;  _ hello _ ?” Jack waved a hand in front of his vacant eyes, eliciting, yet again, no response.

“God  _ damn it _ , what  _ happened _ ,” Jack cried, tears nearly blinding him. “Bruce,I don't know  _ where _ you’re at now, but just  _ say something _ ,  _ please _ .”

Nothing.

A hard sob hit the smaller boy hard enough to have him nearly choke on his own voice. His throat was burned like the sun at this point, and his eyes burned just as badly. He shut them tightly to ease the pain and threw his arms around the unresponsive male in front of him, bringing him close enough that he could feel the other’s heart beating against his own. They stayed that way for a short while as Jack cried. It wasn't until Bruce placed his hands on Jack’s hips and pulled him away that ceased his crying. Jack stared up at his friend confused and frustrated, wondering why he pulled him away. It was then that Bruce lifted up a hand to Jack’s cheek, wiping away his tears and holding his face gently.

“Yeah, I’m okay now,” he responded, smiling warmly.

Jack couldn't help but smile back, chuckling slightly as well, for he had finally seen what he had been longing for.

The hug they shared after this was in silence, but it was enough to communicate what was going on through their minds; a wordless exchange. When they broke apart, Jack called his mom to say that he’d be coming home just a bit  _ later _ than expected, and spent the next few hours lost in Bruce’s oceans again, except this time he knew how to swim.

**Author's Note:**

> I had Bruce's first anxiety attack directly mirror mine so before anyone's like "that's not what it's like," it was for me personally. Anyway, wOW IT'S FINALLY DONE AFTER FIVE-AND-A-HALF MONTHS. I promise chapter two will come along much quicker than this did.


End file.
